I wrote this for HedwigBlack's Weekly Challenge... The subject was Charlie Weasley.
I own none of this and I am making no money from this
Regrets
The red haired wizard stands in front of the headstone. It's been a year since it was placed here, along side her husband's. Husband... that word still sounds foreign to him, when he associates it with her. To him she was always wild and unobtainable. He loved her. Still does, if he is honest with himself. He loved her wit and her zest for life. He even loved the parts of herself she hated. Her clumsiness and insecurities made her seem more human to him. He brushes his hair out of his eyes. He is not wearing it in it's usual ponytail. She always like his hair down, so he wears it like that in deference to her.
She was his first and last so many things. His first best friend, confidant, and lover. She was his last true love and his last impetus to stay. He would have stayed for her, but she would not let him. She said she loved him and that was why she was letting him go. That never made sense to the man and he let his heart grow bitter. How could someone love you and destroy you at the same time? He realized she was letting him go so he left. He regrets ignoring her and her owls the first few months he was away. Eventually they quit coming. It became easier for him to pretend that she never meant anything and their love never existed. He knew it was just pretending; that he was fooling no one but himself, but it made the midnight loneliness bearable, almost.
She moved on and found her true love. When he heard this he just stayed away. It was easier than seeing her. What hurts him the most is that he believes the depth of his feelings for her were never truly returned; that even though she said differently she never truly felt love for him. He can't blame her. She couldn't extend her feelings for him any more than the man could reduce his. He never really fought for her. He simply accepted what she said and left. Maybe if he had fought for her things would have been different. It's that maybe that visits the man in the cold night taunts him and gnaws on his soul.
The man reads the tombstone. It's so odd to see her name listed without her signature last name. To him she had always been 'Dorrie'. He wonders if she ever let 'Him' call her that. He doesn't want to feel the way he does. There are times he envy's the Death Eaters who chose to forsake love. He wishes he could as easily abandon his feelings and memories.
He starts to cry. He feels so empty. He has for a year now. She had always been there, and in the man's mind, there would always be time. Sure she had gotten married and even had a child, but in that part of the man's soul, that is hidden from logic and reason, the man still held hope. It is for the loss of this hope that the man now grieves.
The man wipes his eyes. He feels silly for crying over a teenage romance that ended years ago. Grief and tears,however, don't listen to reason; they run their own course.
The man feels guilt as well as regret. He feels that his continued love for her is somehow wrong and perverse. A good man doesn't love another man's wife. A good man would accept the choices that were made and move on. A good man would would have happy for her and wished her well. This is why the man knows in his heart he is not a good man.
She has a son. The boy is just over one year old. He has seen him, from time to time, at The Burrow. The son is named after her father. The boy looks like her and it hurts. He hopes that no one notices that he avoids the boy. This is not fair to the child and this too feeds the man's guilt.
The man places a single daisy on the woman's grave. Daisies were her favorite flower and it just felt right to give her on on this day. He always thought they were too plain for her but she always said they had a simple beauty.
It's time for him to leave and return to his work. He enjoys working with the beasts. It seems to be the only thing, from which, he derives any pleasure. He admires and respects the creatures. You will never see a dragon brought to it's knees by a stray memory. The animals care only about their primal needs. They have no use for love, guilt or grief.
The man turns his back on the grave and walks towards the ivy covered entrance to the cemetery. He looks back over his shoulder at the headstone and the yellow flower, knowing that he will return next year and the years to come. He will be looking for answers to unasked questions he knows will never come.